


Consequentialism

by rozodejanero



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crestwood (Dragon Age), Denial of Feelings, F/M, Grey Wardens, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor non-linearity, Rare Pairings, Sharing a bed and other forced living together tropes, Stroud on the run, The Inquisitor takes his sweet old time getting to Crestwood, The rarest of pairings, lonely people hooking up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-01-20 20:29:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18532576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozodejanero/pseuds/rozodejanero
Summary: Ever since the Blight, Judith has contented herself with a solitary life; rebuilding and living as a free woman. That is, until the day corpses start roaming about and demons move in down the road. Suddenly, Judith finds herself back in the middle of a nightmare with no hope of reprieve except the promises of a wanted man.When he attempts to save the Wardens from themselves, Stroud finds himself branded a traitor and flees to Ferelden to find the only person who backs his judgement. But Ferelden has problems of its own and even he cannot fight an entire country. Bed bound and pursued by a lieutenant-commander with an axe to grind, Stroud must place his trust in a woman who questions everything he believes.





	Consequentialism

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: I'm currently reworking this story
> 
> For your consideration; the rarest of pairs. 
> 
> I have a soft spot for Stroud and Crestwood, and this has grown into a bit of a monster. Sorry ≠ not sorry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judith

It was not the first time Judith had been held at knife point. She remembered the first time, vividly. She had been a child, and a smelly man had clasping her to his chest as his associate threatened her mother. She had struggled then and the blade had dug into her neck, drawing bright, crimson blood. Now, she was older, probably not wiser, but importantly she had _learned._ So, when a cool blade pressed into the back of her neck, she stilled.

“On your knees.”

The voice was male, Orlesian oddly enough, but with a Marcher lilt. She took an even breath. She had known something was off the second she’d returned and found her door unlocked. But did she take notice? Oh no. She just walked right on in, and now there was a sword at her back. _Idiot_.

“Right. On my knees”

She knelt before the dusty heath and took a breath. Was he going to ransack her house and have his way with her? He could have knocked her out, which meant he might have plans for her being lucid. A surge of panic bubbled in her chest. The man cleared his throat.

“Who are you?”

“W-what?”

“Who are you,” the man growled. “Why are you here? Did you follow me?”

“Did I-what?”

 Thoughts whirled in her head; why did it matter who she was? Why did he think she was here, in her own home? Why on Thedas did he think she would follow a strange man into her own home? She couldn't seem to get any of them out and her breath felt short. There was a pointed poke on the back of her neck. It stung.

“It’s a simple question.” Said the man. “Did you follow me?”

“I-no, no of course not, why would I follow you? I didn’t even know who you are!”

There was silence for a moment. Judith could feel her heart, high in her throat. It seemed like the man had been considering her words because he said slowly;

“Then why are you here?”

Finally, a question she could answer with confidence.

“I-this is _my_ house. I live here!”

There was another pause. The man was so quiet. All she could hear was the patter of rain outside. Judith might have thought he’d have left except for the threatening steel at her nape.

“Your house?” He said finally, incredulously.

“Yes!” She gestured around generally, earning herself another warning poke. “Ow, Maker, what is your-” She took a breath, best not to upset him. “Surely you can see it is occupied?”

Judith imagined the man looking around, judging the ramshackle little shack with his judgey, Orlesian eye. She scowled. Sure, it wasn’t in the best shape, with the leaking roof, grimy floor and musty odour, but it was her home.

“You _live_ here? Alone?”

Yes, definitely judgmental, but strangely, she relaxed. If he was so scandalized that she lived alone, that meant he had not been expecting her, that he had not been lying in wait. Maybe that meant he was not going to ravish her.

“Yes,” She said. “It’s quite nice in the summer.”

The man let out a kind of pained laugh. Judith wished she could see him and get a better read of the situation.

“I didn’t follow you,” she repeated. “Look, there’s gold in the chest. Take what you want and leave me to my dinner, I have a lot of reading to catch up on.”

Just slightly, she felt the pressure drop from the back of her neck.

“I’m not a bugler,” he said, sounding mildly offended. Judith narrowed her eyes.

“Then why did you break into my house?”

“Don’t move.” He said, ignoring her and the sword fell away from her nape. She sat still, listening to the man shuffling around. Was he rifling through the chest? She prayed to the Maker that he wouldn’t find the stash hidden under her bed.

“Arms behind your back.”

Judith gaped.

“You can’t be serious.” She said, before she felt his sword dig into her shoulder blade. Scowling, she reached around and placed both hands against the small of her back. She grit her teeth as he tied her wrists together.

“So, I suppose I just wait until someone comes to visit to untie me?”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to manage.” He said.

Without warning his hand reached round her waist. Judith jolted and opened her mouth, but before she could yell at him he snapped the pouch off her girdle. Her scowl deepened.

“I thought you weren’t a burglar.”

There was silence and she listened as he rifled through her bag.

“I’m not,” he said, and he dropped it by her side. There were the sounds of armour clinking and she heard the door open, close, then the click of the key he had taken from her purse.

He had locked her in.

She counted to 3 then clumsily made her way to her feet. He had tied her wrists well, tight but not painfully so. She rushed over to the closed window and peered through the cracks. It was dark, but the moon was full and high and there were no clouds. The first thing she realised was that he was clutching one hand to his side and had a heavy limp. The bastard was injured! The second thing was that the distinctive blue and silver of a Grey Warden uniform. Her heart leapt.

She has been tied up by a Grey Warden; by _the_ Grey Warden.

 _Stroud_.

“It rhymes with cloud,” Ruben had remarked, astute as ever for a five-year-old.

“Yes,” agreed Judith. She had been standing in Gauld’s house in the village, staring at the wardens milling about near the gate. They had arrived early that morning and were taking rest from the rain under the overhang.

“It’s just like them,” Gauld said irritably from near his son. “Come waltzing into the village asking for our help tracking down some deserter but they won’t lift a finger to help us with the rift or the corpses.”

“Thats just what they’re like.” Shrugged Judith. “Wardens don’t care about regular things, they’ve got archdemons to think about.”

“Yeah well, the archdemon’s dead, isn’t he? Yet here we are, still suffering.” He pinned her with an irritating stare. “People should help other people out Judith.”

Judith had agreed, just to appease him, but privately she thought that people should also help themselves out.

Gauld was a good man, perhaps the best kind of man, but he was far too affected by righteous indignation. She didn’t enjoy living amongst the undead but what could you do? Even their blighted mayor had hardly attempted to get rid of the rift in the lake. Why would the wardens be any different? All they cared about was their mysterious warden business. In the end there was only one thing you could count on, and that was yourself.

It was shortly after that, once the wardens had finished their rest, that they had found out that she lived outside of town. She had been approached by the leader of the small contingent. Warden Krenn was a short man, younger than herself, and spoke to her like he thought she was an idiot.

“He’s a dangerous man,” he’d said. “Best swordsman in the order. I’d advise against approaching.”

Judith raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure of other women you have met Warden, but I am not in the habit of approaching _any_ strange man I may come across.”

“Yes, of course, of course.” He nodded. “But still, let us know if you see anything suspicious when you’re out there.”

Judith rather thought informing to this man was about the last thing she was inclined to do. Still, she _was_ curious.

“What did he do?”

“Ah,” tittered Krenn. “Warden business I’m afraid. All you need to know is that Stroud is a slippery man and the sooner he’s reprimanded the better.”

Judith had nodded dutifully, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

She remembered Krenn’s words as she peered out between the slats, watching the renegade Warden as he limped heavily through her yard. He didn’t look slippery, he looked like he was in pain.

What had he done?

Suddenly the man stopped and looked around, alert. The steady rain masked any sounds, but the man could clearly sense something. Wild panic clutched at her throat. _Darkspawn_. But then a pair of corpses lurched from the shadow of the house.

She watched as he ducked under the sword of the first and took a swing at the second. Blood spurted from its chest, but it seemed not to notice. The first stumbled past the man, off balance from its missed swing. The warden drove his shoulder into it as it did. It fell to the side, losing grasp of its sword. He took another swing at the second, but it was ready. The clang of the swords rung in her ears despite the rain.

The Warden was clearly well trained, exceptional, even with his injuries. But it was clear he was in pain and at a disadvantage.

The second corpse parried, the sword whizzing past his ear. He dodged it barely and swung his own sword across the offender’s neck. The head went flying into the night.

Then, from the road, another two corpses emerged from the shadows.

One swung at him.

The other notched an arrow.

The Warden stumbled, surprised at the unexpected blade. He fell onto one knee. Judith watched in horror as he slipped, trying to regain his feet on his bad leg. But the rain had made the ground slippery. Then, as the archer released its foul arrow, the other corpse brought its blade down in a wide arc. The Warden parried the arrow, but the blade struck him in the thigh.

The cry of pain jolted Judith into action.

A part of her told her it was foolish, hands bound, to take on three corpses, but she couldn’t just sit and watch the man be eviscerated by the foul creatures. She took a swift kick to the door. There was an encouraging crunch of rotting splinters. She kicked again, and the door lurched open, breaking off from one hinge and smacking into the corpse that had lost its sword. It went flying backward into the well. There was a crunch as its head connected with the stones.

Judith wasted no time, knowing that surprise was all she had, and launched herself at the corpse that had struck the Warden. It didn’t even have time to raise its sword before she caught it with a swift kick to the kneecap. Its lower leg went flying in a revolting mass of sinew and bone. It collapsed back into the mud and she brought a boot down on its skull. Turning, she saw the archer notching another arrow. It was out of reach of the man. It was out of reach of her.

She had no hands. She had no time.

“The head,” she yelled uselessly at the man. “You need to hit the head!”

From the ground the man unsheathed a dagger from Maker knows where and flicked it deftly at the archer. The blade embedded itself into the corpse’s skull with a squelching thunk.

The abomination let out a gurgle then slumped against the rock.

Judith rushed toward the Warden. He rolled over to face her, breathing heavily.  She could not tell what was blood and what was mud.

“We need to get inside!” She yelled above the rain. “There could be more.”

He nodded, trying to regain his feet, but he let out a yelp and collapsed onto his hands. Judith knelt on one knee, offering her shoulder. The man grasped her arm and as she straightened. He let out a string of creative Orlesian curses, dragging his leg as they shuffled into the house, his sword in one hand. She plonked him down on her cot.

“Cut me.” She showed him her wrists and he clumsily cut the ties with the tip of his sword.

As soon as she was free Judith rushed to inspect the broken door. It almost in one piece. She dragged it back and jammed back it into the frame. If anyone so much as poked it, it would probably fall over. She stacked as many movable objects she had to secure it. Thank the Maker she had shuttered the windows earlier that week.

“Here,” she said, turning back to the Warden. “Let me see.”

The man was wobbling perilously, ghostly pale and breathing quickly. He did not protest when she guided him onto his back, swivelling him so he lay flat on her cot. Blood began pooling on her sheets.

He had lost a lot of it.

She lit a lantern, then fumbled around for a spare sheet and ripped a length off it. She shoved his tasset aside and tied a tourniquet around his upper thigh tightly. He grunted as she did so, staring unfocused up at the ceiling.

She reached for the knife under her pillow and cut away the fabric from around the wound. The cut was deep and throbbed angrily with his quickened pulse. It bisected the outside edge of his right thigh but did not seem to have severed the femoral artery. Thank the Maker, if he had been cut there, she may as well have left him in the mud.

She bit her tongue. What was it Mistress Adele had told her again and again? Apply pressure, cut the supply, let it clot. She wiped away mud with trembling hands. But he was a man, not a horse, nor a Mabari, nor any of the animals she had been tasked with helping. Was it the same? It had to be kind of the same. Right?

Her instinct was fading and now all her thoughts were returning, and she felt panic begin to rise as she realized there was a man dying in her house.

She took a breath.

_Stop panicking._

She reached for the rest of her ruined sheet and pressed it into the wound. The man grunted again and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, as if it would make him feel any better.

“S’ fine,” he grit out. “Is it deep? It feels deep.”

Judith nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her.

“Yes,” she said. The man let out a long, pained sigh. Judith took his hand and pressed it over the sheet, before jumping up and fetching her medicine case from the mantle. She had no potions left, but there was a flagon of moonshine Gauld had given her for Wintersend. One sip had told her it was good for nothing except medical emergencies.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, but it doesn’t look life threatening,” she said, returning to the Warden’s side. “Once I stem the bleeding, I can clean the wound.”

“I’ve survived worse,” he ground out. Judith filled a ceramic mug with the liquor.

“Here,” he took hit from her hands and drank it in one, swift gulp before descending into fit of violent coughing.

She took the mug from him before he could drop it.

Water. She needed boiling water. She jumped up and lit the fire. She whispered a small prayer to the Maker that all the extra light would not attract more corpses and hooked a cauldron of fresh water over the flames.

“You picked a bad time to get sliced open,” she laughed weakly, returning to him and setting about cutting around the rest of his trousers. Should she remove his boots? Was that a thing you did? “Usually I have an abundance of potions, for trade, but the rift in the lake has put a dampener on those plans recently.”

The man’s eyes were closed, she couldn’t really tell if he was listening or not.

She decided to remove his boots.

The reason for his limping became clear as she did. When she pulled off his left boot she saw that his left ankle was puffy and swollen. She frowned down at it.

“Demons,” the man explained, looking at her through half-lidded eyes. “It’s a nice neighbourhood you have round here.”

Judith raised an eyebrow.

“I suppose adding in a Warden deserter merely adds to the charm.”

The man coughed in what could have been an attempt at a laugh.

“Ah,” he said, almost to himself. “They’re already here then.”

“What did you do?” Judith asked, not really expecting him to answer.

The man stared at her carefully from beneath his lashes.

“I…asked a few too many questions.”

Judith stared back at him. Well at least he hadn’t murdered some Warden babies. Not that he would admit to that, she supposed. Could Grey Wardens even have babies? She shook her head. Well, if he wanted to murder _her_ , he could have done it when she’d been tied up, and he hadn’t. She removed the other boot and peered down at his feet.

“I have some salve left, for the swelling,” she said before looking back at him. “But I should stitch your leg first.”

The man hummed quietly and closed his eyes.

It had been a long time since she’d had to stitch up anything except leather and fabrics, but some skills you never forgot. She plopped some needles and thread into the boiling cauldron and set about cleaning the wound. The man was unresponsive for the most part and Judith couldn’t decide if it was disconcerting or impressive. In the spirit of kindness, she decided not to warn him before she poured the rest of the moonshine over his leg. He yelped, then promptly passed out from the pain.

She felt a little bad, but it would have been worse for him to be awake during the stitching. Worse for her too. She recalled once, mending the leg of a Mabari. It had almost bitten off her ear before Mistress Adele had used knockout powder to render it unconscious.

_He’s a dangerous man._

She sighed and looked down at the unconscious man. He was around her age, probably older, with dark hair and a bizarre moustache. Maker, Orlesian fashions were just so _weird_. Underneath it he had the bearings of a handsome kind of man, but he looked exhausted and broken.

Maker, what had she gotten herself into?

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

Judith woke with a stiff neck and cramped hands. She had a moment of panic when she realized she was curled in front of a hearth with a sword clutched in her arms. Then she caught sight of the pile of bloodied bandages near the door and remembered the night before.

Her eyes snapped to the bed.

The Warden was sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm.

He was devoid of most of his armour, the heaviest of which was gathered in a neat pile at the foot of the bed. Judith had opted to replace the rest of his clothes as best she could. She had discovered much to her shock that he also had an angry purple swelling on the left side of his ribcage. The man knew how to take punishment, that was for sure, she was surprised he had even been able to breath, let alone swing a sword. She had dithered about touching his trousers. In the end she had decided to remove them entirely and was relieved to find he wore loose braies underneath. It was not that she was shy, but there was something a little invasive about undressing a man while he was unconscious and the last thing her nerves would have needed was an eyeful of his cock.

She rose and stretched out her neck before peering out the window. It was overcast, but the rain had stopped. Small mercies, she supposed. She took stock of the door, it had held through the night and nothing had seemed to bother the house during the night.

As quietly as she could she removed the crates from the doorway and slipped outside.

The corpses were already beginning to stink up the yard. The one that had been knocked by the door had fallen on top of her fledgling elfroot crop. She scowled; so much for a new batch of balms before Drakonis. She made her way to the outhouse to relieve herself, then fetched a fresh bucket of water from the well to wash. As she scrubbed her face she began making a mental list of what to do.

Naturally, the best course of action _was_ action, but she decided to put what to do with the Warden on the back coals until he was awake. He needed a healer, that much was obvious. Her stitches had been clumsy and without a healing potion he would be bed bound for weeks. But she didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that she was harbouring the blighted man, nor did she want to harbor him for too long. The only person in the village she trusted was Gauld, and he was not a healer, nor kept things to himself. What to do with the Warden was best left until after a full stomach and maybe a dram of something potent. Other matters, however, those she could deal with now.

First, she would have to fix the door; she didn’t really fancy another night playing watchman. Then she would need to clear the yard, maybe try to recuse some of her seedlings. If the rain held out, she could go forage for some spindleweed and make up some balms. Though, even that she wasn’t quite sure about. A Dragon had moved in to the south and there was another rift to the north. Neither made foraging much of an appealing prospect.

Judith sighed and dipped her face into the frigid bucket of water. The Warden’s comment about the neighbourhood really was quite accurate; it really was going to hell.

“Greetings!”

She startled, looking up with water dripping down her face. Her stomach dropped as three Grey Wardens appeared from the direction of Old Whitters Farm.

Cripes. What kind of blighted coincidence was this?

“Wow,” Whistled Krenn as he stopped at the feet of one of the corpses. He surveyed the yard with a shrewd eye. “What happened here?”

Judith laughed weakly, panic bubbling as she did. She could hear the injured Warden coughing inside the house, maybe it was her imagination?

“Uh,” she said quickly and maybe a bit too loudly. “I just had some visitors last night.”

“I can see that,” chuckled Krenn. “Made good work of them too.”

He poked the nearest one with a leather boot, then gave her an appraising once over.

“I’m used to dealing with corpses,” Judith said. She straightened her spine and walked toward the trio, putting herself between them and the door. “Living out here and all.”

“Yes, yes, I remember, quite self-sufficient aren’t you,” said Krenn, cocking his head to one side. “Judith wasn’t it?”

Judith nodded.

“Have you, ah, have you found your deserter yet?” She looked at the other Wardens, a male warrior, and a female mage. They both looked grim and ill-humoured. Back in the village Judith had gotten the impression that they weren’t thrilled to have been assigned to recovering Stroud. She supposed being assigned to track down one of your own was a troubled business.

“Alas no,” Krenn sighed, stepping to the side of one corpse and looking around idly. “But we’re close, he’s still in Crestwood, I’m sure of it.”

“You don’t think he’s moved on?”

Krenn’s eyes snapped to hers so quickly that she suddenly thought, _he knows_. But that was impossible, he couldn’t read her mind. Slowly, he shook his head.

“No, we would know if he had.” He mused, then bent down to examine the corpse slumped amongst the elfroot. “Impressive, you managed to take down _four_ corpses by yourself, with not even a scratch.”

“Like I say,” Judith said, not really sure what he was getting at. “I’m used to it.”

“Right, right,” the man nodded emphatically as he walked around her yard.

 It then occurred to Judith that he did not believe her in the slightest.

He must suspect that she had had help. Did he suspect it was Warden help? She didn’t know why he would, _how_ he could, but she decided to adjust her story all the same. Her mind grabbed haphazardly at ideas, a diversion, an excuse, to get them away from the farm.

But then one thought rose to the surface; _why_?

It would be easy, simple even, just to admit that he was inside. Why was she risking herself for him anyway? Warden business was Warden business and none of hers.

_I asked a few too many questions._

“You said that he was dangerous,” she said slowly. “What did he do?”

“Afraid that’s warden business miss,” said the warrior near the wall. Judith resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“But you said he was dangerous. Am _I_ in danger of him, being out here alone?”

“I wouldn’t say he’s a danger to you miss,” replied the warrior. “Warden Stroud’s an honourable man.”

“Honourable, but a traitor all the same,” said Krenn, cutting in. He scowled at the warrior. “He would only be a danger to _you_ if you were to get in his way.”

There was silence for a moment.

“What in blighted hell is that?”

Judith drew her eyes from Krenn’s. The mage was pointing at the Astrarium in the corner of the yard.

“It’s a Tevinter relic Helena,” said Krenn before Judith could even open her mouth. “An Astrarium. They used it to look at the stars.”

The two Wardens and Judith stared at him. Krenn place a hand over his heart.

“I have a soft spot for the relics of our ancient oppressive overlords,” he explained with a bashful smile and though Judith had no idea why, but the way he said it sent a chill down her spine. “Now,” he turned back to Judith. “Where were we?”

Judith tried her best not to wring her hands.

It would be so easy, to just give the man up.

But in the back of her mind she knew it would be the wrong thing to do. She sighed inwardly and cleared her throat.

“Well I’ll admit, as much as I wish I could take full credit, I think someone had already taken a swing at a few of them,” she said, shrugging. “It’s strange to see so many this far from the lake. Seemed to me like they’d met some hapless traveller further up the road. Maybe your man?”

“Ah.” Krenn nodded slowly. ”Now we’re getting somewhere, which direction did they come?”

Judith pointed to the ridge.

“From Hilltop,” she said, hoping they had not yet scouted there. Krenn rubbed his chin.

“Yes,” he said slowly. He seemed just barely to buy into her explanation. “I suppose that might make sense.”

He turned to his Wardens.

“Start scouting the ridge, Stroud might have taken refuge near Caer Bronach. Maker knows that sounds crafty enough for him.”

Helena and the warrior exchanged glances, then nodded and began marching toward the ridge. Krenn didn’t move. He was looking thoughtfully at the corpse slumped against the stone. Judith followed his gaze and felt her stomach drop with a feeling akin to being submerged in ice cold water.

The hilt of a Warden’s knife was sticking out of the abomination’s eye.

“Wait.” He held up a hand. Helena and the warrior stopped and turned back to him.

Krenn walked over and pulled at the knife. It came free with a squelch.  She watched his back, searching for a reaction, for signs of _something._ He turned to look at her, triumph gleaming in his eyes.

“I’ve never seen a corpse carry a knife before,” she remarked, feeling distinctly less flippant than the words coming out of her mouth. “Do you think it needed to open some letters?”

Krenn did not laugh.

“Do you know what this is?” He asked. Deciding there was no point in pretending, Judith nodded.

“It’s clearly a Warden’s dagger,” she shrugged, folding her arms. She glanced at the other Wardens. “I just told you they were already riled up when I faced them, they probably had a run in with your guy.”

“I hardly think this thing would have gotten very far with a knife through its skull.”

Judith shrugged.

“What you are getting at?”

Krenn stepped toward her and it took all of Judith’s willpower to not take a step backward. He stopped a foot away from her chest.

“You want to know what I’m getting at?” He said, resting the knife tip against her sternum. “I think Stroud was here, and I think _you_ know where he is.”

Judith stared at him, heart pounding in her throat. She tried to form words.

“That’s ridiculous.”

Krenn searched her face, then glanced at the door behind her. He stepped back, and for a moment she thought that he was backing down. But then he stepped past her and wrenched the door open, nearly tearing it from its remaining hinge.

Judith rushed into the house after him. It was over.

But the house was empty.

The armour and bandages were gone, the bed made. Judith blinked, confused. Had she dreamed the entire thing up? She glanced around the room. A box of preserved organs that she _knew_ she had hidden sat surreptitiously beside the fireplace. She glanced at her bed. Surly not? She cleared her throat to get Krenn’s attention.

“Happy?”

The warden’s brows were furrowed when he turned to her.

“I,” he started. “I thought…”

“I know what you thought,” she snapped. “Maybe you should listen to what people say before barging into their homes without cause.”

The Warden looked down at the knife in his hands and frowned. He looked genuinely baffled.

“Sir.” Helena and the warrior were hovering in the doorway.

“I-, yes,” said Krenn. He straightened his spine and looked over her shoulder at his colleagues before glancing back at her. “Good day Judith.”

Not waiting for a reply, he nodded, turned on his heel and exited past the her and the other. Judith stared as he went. The warrior looked at her apologetically before turning and following. Maybe it was a ruse?

She waited.

When the sounds of clinking armour had dissipated fully, she tugged the door back into the frame and counted to sixty. Slowly, her anxiety began to subside. This entire experience was going to give her a new batch of grey hairs she was certain. Once her pulse had slowed to a reasonable pace, she walked over to the bed and tapped the panel at the side with her toe.

“You still alive?”

There was a groan and the panel fell open. Judith bent down, coming face to face with the injured warden. His expression told a story of someone who was stuffed into a space far, far too small for his person. She reached down and helped drag him out. The bandages on his leg were bloody; his leg had reopened.

“I’m impressed,” she said, looking down at him as he lay, breathing heavily on the floor. “Not only did you find my hidden compartment, but you managed not to reveal yourself with all the bleeding.”

The Warden stared up at her.

“You didn’t tell them I was here.” He said with an odd expression, Judith shrugged.

“That guy’s a bastard.” He was still staring at her. It was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable. “I’m Judith by the way.”

“Stroud.”

Judith nodded and offered her hands. He took them, and she lugged him back onto the bed. She glanced at the door.

“I don’t think they’ll be back any time soon.”

“I doubt the ruse will put him off for long,” said Stroud, leaning back on his elbows with a grimace. “He knows I was here  _and_  suspects we’ve had contact.” He eyed her. “I expect he’ll double down on you.”

Judith hadn’t considered that. Just what she needed.

“Oh brilliant,” she said. “You know him well then?”

“I trained him. And the others.” He said with some measure of regret, but he did not elaborate. There was a moment of silence. Absentmindedly, Judith scratched the back of her neck.

“I should look at that wound again,” she said. “At this rate it’s going to fester something awful.”

“Not with that blighted stuff you used last night.” Stroud said dryly.

Why of all the ungrateful bastards- and it wasn’t even lunchtime. Judith pointed a finger at his chest.

“That was for your own good I’ll have you know.”

“As was undressing me I’m sure.” He raised an eyebrow. Judith felt a flush crepe up her neck like kindling catching flame. She couldn’t tell if he was having her on. His damned moustache was just big enough to mask whether he there was a smile at the corners of his mouth. She apprised his current outfit; one of Gauld’s old linen shirts and Stroud’s own braies. He was pleasingly built beneath the linen, but it was hardly scandalous.

“You were covered in blood,” she hissed. “I was being nice.”

When she met his eyes again, there was a kind of curious amusement in them.

“I know,” he admitted with a nod. “You did well given the circumstances.”

“Oh.” She said. “Well _thankyou Ser._ I’m certainly gratified you approve of me saving your life.”

She did her most mocking version of a curtsy.

“You _did_ save my life.”

Judith straightened. She looked away from Stoud's loaded gaze.

“It’s fine,” she said, feeling more flustered than she had been when appraising his state of undress. There was something about how earnest he sounded that made her feel just a little bit stupid.

“I am in your debt.”

Judith waved a hand in his direction. Sure, she had saved his life, but it’s what anyone would do. Well, she thought about that for a moment, probably not anyone. But it’s what she would do, and she had. It wasn’t a big deal, it certainly didn’t _mean_ anything.

“Well maybe once you can swing a sword again you can slay a couple of problem Wyverns for me.” She said with a weak laugh, wishing to change the subject. “But first you need that leg looked at properly. I know of a spirit healer near here.”

He shook his head.

“No. No apostates.” He said.

“You need someone to look after that leg,” Judith groused, poking a finger at his chest again. “And don’t think I didn’t see the state of your ribs or that blighted ankle. You’re not going to last long with that Warden on your trail if you can’t move without bleeding all over the place. And I am including internally in that.”

Stroud looked at her with a worrying sort of thoughtfulness.

“What about you?”

“Me?!” Judith spluttered. Was he serious? He looked _completely_ serious. “I’m not- I don’t- Believe me, there are plenty of things I know how to do but this is not one of them.”

“Isn’t it?”

He looked a little confused. Judith realized her actions up until that point did suggest some level of familiarity with the medicinal arts.

“I used to work with a veterinarian,” she explained. “In a _stable._ You’re not a horse.”

“I’ve had worse healers.”

Judith shook her head, this man. She turned to reset the fire. If he was going to be a stubborn mule she desperately needed some breakfast.

“I realize I’ve put you in a difficult position,” said Stroud. Judith could hear him shuffling about on the cot. “You saved my life, even after I threatened you, you lied for me, you stopped me from bleeding out. I’m not exactly in a position to ask any more of you.”

Judith rolled her eyes as she stacked the kindling.

“But?”

“But,” he sighed. “I have reason to suspect the fate of the Grey Wardens hinges on information I’ve uncovered. It is imperative I’m not found, by Krenn or anyone else, before I can contact the people I trust.”

Information he’d uncovered? Was that all he was going to give her?

“And I suppose this information is secret then?”

“I would not burden you.”

Judith let out a sharp, decisive bark of laughter.

“Burden me?” She said, turning on her heel to face him. “Your information would burden me less than the threat I face harbouring you.”

“Fair.” Stroud conceded. “But the point remains the same.”

“If the fate of the Wardens hinges on this information, why do they want to silence you?”

Stroud stared at her, lips drawn tight. Judith sighed. She threw her hands up in frustration. Blood blighted Wardens, the whole blighted lot of them.

“I swear to the Maker- all you Wardens can just go jump in the lake with your secretive bollocks.”

Stroud looked at her pensively, unamused and serious.

“There’s a rift yes? In the lake?”

“Yes?” Judith nodded slowly, confused by this new line of inquiry. “It’s what’s brought the corpses about. At least that's my theory.”

Stroud ran a hand over his chin.

“The person I trust,” he said. “They have ties to the Inquisition.”

Judith narrowed her eyes. She had heard of the Inquisition, everyone had, especially after the attack on Haven. Their leader, an enigmatic Dalish warrior was said to have spent the last several months closing rifts all over Ferelden and beyond. It was not unreasonable that he could help with Crestwood's problem.

“I will be contacting them with or without you," continued Stroud. "If you help me, I will ask the Inquisition to help the town. They closed the rift over Haven, they can do the same here.”

Judith thought of Crestwood without corpses, sun shining and fog-less. She thought of Gauld and his son, not having to cower inside their house. She thought of the dwindling population in the village. How long could they last? Suddenly, helping this crazy Warden didn’t seem like too bad of an idea. Assuming his word was good, which, of course, she couldn’t.

“How can I trust you are telling the truth?” She said. “You have to give me _something_ to go by.”

Stroud looked thoughtful. He sat up and reached for the pouch near his armour. He rifled around in it, then handed her a letter.

“Here,” he said. Judith took it from him. It read:

 

_Stroud,_

_This is alarming news indeed. I have contacted Varric to arrange a meeting with Inquisitor Lavellan. Meet me at Skyhold as soon as you can._

_\- Hawke_

Judith stared down at the parchment. Skyhold, Lavellan, Varric - _Tethras_? She flipped it over, the seal of the Champion of Kirkwall looked genuine enough. Even if he didn’t _know_ the Inquisitor, Stroud clearly had some powerful friends. She looked up at him. His intelligent blue eyes were watching her carefully.

“Fine,” she said, handing back the letter. “I’ll help you, in exchange for your contacts.”

Stroud nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, deflating, as if he had been holding his breath.

 “But if you double cross me I’m feeding you to the dragon.”

Stroud raised an eyebrow.

“Is that before or after I jump into the lake?”

“Oh, shut up,” she poked a fresh finger at him. Now he was deciding to be funny? “Lie down and let me look at that bloody leg of yours.”


End file.
